“Ryder, please, they’re almost here!”
Star and Ryder heard the powerful Jeep engine at the same time. They turned toward the road as the shiny black four-wheeler passed under a streetlamp and stealthily made its way toward the deer farm across the street. The driver had turned out the headlights. They heard laughter inside the Jeep. Ryder was shoving his legs into his jeans before Star could say another word.
“Back door,” he commanded.
RYDER QUIETLY MADE HIS way out of the house. He found Star huddled in the azaleas. He had grabbed a jacket and a pair of sweatpants as he left his room, and he shoved the pants at Star. “Put these on,” he said as he pulled on his jacket.
“Ryder . . .” Star whined.
“Now. You’ll freeze your ass off.”
Star quickly pulled on the pants, which ballooned around her skinny legs. Ryder knelt and stuffed the pants into the tops of her boots. Rising, he said, “Now stay behind me, and try not to trip.”
They rounded the side of the house, and Ryder pulled Star back into the shadows. He pressed a finger to her lips. The Jeep idled across the street. Then the engine was shut off, and there was silence. More whispers and laughter. When the driver opened his door, the dome light briefly illuminated three boys. One boy held a bundle in his arms.
Ryder and Star watched the boys pace up and down the fence of the O. Henry Deer Farm.
“I don’t see them,” said one boy.
“They’re in there,” said another.
The third motioned. “Throw him in. He’ll flush ’em out.”
In the moonlight, Ryder saw the bundle wiggle and the boy holding it fish out a small white and black spotted dog. Before he knew it, the boy had tossed the dog over the eight-foot fence and in with the deer. “No!” screamed Ryder, racing across the yard. The boys spun around, and Ryder recognized them from the football team. The biggest one was Art Crump Junior. Ryder ran for the locked gate, but before he could reach it, two of the boys tackled him. He automatically began throwing punches, and Star started screaming. This was not going to be like the fight at school. Art Junior didn’t mind a little help this time. Ryder was seriously outnumbered in people and poundage.
“Hold him,” Art Junior instructed his two beefy friends. Then he slammed a fist into Ryder’s gut, forcing the air out of him. The other two laughed and let him drop to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Art Junior’s boot coming for his head and tried to roll away. It glanced off his temple. From far away, he heard the dog barking and Star sobbing his name over and over. He squinted in her direction, felt blood running into his eye, and saw her struggling with one of the boys. “Don’t touch her,” he grunted, trying to push himself up to his hands and knees.
Then he saw big hands, Sam’s, grab the boy’s shoulder and jerk him away from Star. She broke free and ran to him. He felt her hand on his face. He wanted to vomit but not in front of Star. He ducked his head, breathed, and tried to get up again. Then he heard Antigone’s voice telling him everything was going to be all right. He fell back to the ground and rolled over, peering up at her through an eye already half-swollen shut. He knew that was a lie. All hell was breaking loose beyond the fence.
AS SAM SPUN THE combination on the gate padlock and shoved it open, he thought about how most people think of deer as silent creatures striding peacefully along the edge of a cornfield or leaping through the forest. Few hear them in distress, scared, screaming that high-pitched half-snort, half-whinny. He tuned out the frantic deer and tried to get a direction on the yapping dog. Two security lights along the fence showed darting shadows and chaos. The mutt, which had some hunting hound in him, was in his element, chasing the frightened deer and snapping at their heels. The deer at first moved together, then dispersed in several directions, each searching for a way to escape. Sam dived for the dog, but it only growled and eluded him. On the ground, Sam felt hooves pounding all around him. He saw Antigone begin to enter the compound and yelled, “Stay out of here!” Sam lifted himself up and again gave chase. He closed in on the dog, reaching for its scruffy neck, but it dodged away. He almost had it cornered under one of the spotlights when he heard a snarl from behind. He turned in time to see an object hurling through the night. It was the feral cat.
The ferocious blur attacked the dog without mercy. Dog and cat were about the same size, but the cat fought how Sam imagined Ryder would—fearlessly, no holds barred, like life depended on it. It swiped, slashed, and ripped, leaving the dog yelping in pain. As quickly as it entered the fray, the cat completed its job. There was silence.
The dog lay on the ground, motionless, one eye gone, its flank sliced open. The cat that had befriended the deer took one last look at its opponent, then slowly turned and disappeared into the night.
“That cat killed my dog!” shouted Art Junior, kicking the fence.
Sam glanced back at the group. Everyone from Antigone, Star, and Ryder to William and Earthly Sims, who’d come running as soon as they heard the uproar, was in shock. “Oh man,” said one of Art Junior’s buddies. Then Sam heard Antigone moan and saw her start through the gate. He whirled to see where she was going, and his heart caught. Fancy. Panicked, the young deer had thrown itself against the fence with such force that its leg and jaw were entangled in the mesh. Sam sprinted for Antigone, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to a halt before she could reach the injured animal. “Don’t go near her. One kick and she could kill you and the baby.”
“She’s bleeding,” Antigone pleaded. “I have to help her.”
Still looking into his wife’s eyes, Sam started issuing orders: “Earthly, call the vet and Cody Dunn. Star, get some blankets. William, keep an eye on those bastards.”
Star and Earthly scattered. Ryder rose from the ground, staggered a moment, then righted himself. He swiped at the blood on his face once then stared at Art Junior. Without saying a word, he passed by the boys, bumping Art Junior’s shoulder, on his way to the gate and Antigone. Art Junior took a step toward him, but one of his friends grabbed his arm, saying, “Let’s get outta here.”
As the boys stepped toward the Jeep, William stood his ground. He tapped a baseball bat against one hand. “Don’t move.”
“You can’t hold us here,” Art Junior said.
William let his arm drop, as if by accident, and the bat smashed the Jeep’s headlight. Art Junior howled, “That’s my Jeep!”
“It’s gonna be your head, if you move again,” William said.
None of the three boys seemed willing to cross a cook wielding a baseball bat like a ginzu knife. When Earthly returned, William sent her back to call the boys’ parents. He silenced the boys’ protests with a whack to the hood of the Jeep.
Star ran up and thrust the blankets in Sam’s arms and then backed away to where Ryder stood, watching intently. Antigone and Sam slowly approached Fancy.
“Sam!” Ryder warned.
Sam glanced back at the boy. “I got it.”
Sam hovered nearby ready to jerk Antigone to safety at the first sign of distress from the deer. Antigone whispered to Fancy. She stretched out her hand, walking nearer and nearer. The animal snorted and flailed. Sam and Antigone stopped. When Fancy settled down, they began approaching her again. She was caught, the steel wire of the chain link fence cutting into the deer’s leg and jaw. Blood dripped from cuts on her flank, legs, and snout. Angling away from the dangerous hooves, Antigone laid a hand on the deer’s quivering neck. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “Shhhh. It’s going to be okay.” Fancy grew calm. Sam reached around Antigone and gently draped a blanket around the trembling animal.
“She’s going into shock,” he said, but he doubted Antigone heard him. The night was quiet except for the heavy breathing of the deer and Antigone’s whispers. Leaning toward the deer, she was singing the alphabet song like a lullaby.
WHEN ARTHUR AND IRENE arrived, the other two boys were in the back of Cody Dunn’s squad car, crying. Irene spotted Art Junior, arguing with
Cody. “This is bullshit; I’m outta here,” said Art Junior, starting for the Jeep. Cody grabbed his arm, spun him around, and started handcuffing him. Art Junior struggled. “Hey, get off me!”
Irene barely waited for Arthur to stop the car before she jumped out and ran to her son. Arthur was right on her heels.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“Cody, what’s going on here?” Arthur frowned.
“These boys trespassed, assaulted another individual, and endangered an animal. I’m taking them in, Arthur.”
Arthur demanded to know what happened. Art Junior told them everything. He didn’t even try to lie. In fact, he was proud of himself. His father stepped in front of him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Art Junior sneered. “She’s a troublemaker. Mom said so.”
“I never!” Irene gasped.
“You said she was ruining everything, her and that stupid library. That’s all you talk about!”
Arthur grabbed his son’s arm. “Don’t use that tone with your mother.”
“I’m tired of this crap, and I’m tired of her,” Art Junior said, nodding toward Antigone. He shrugged out of his father’s hold. “She got what she deserved.”
“This is the stupidest damn thing you’ve ever done,” Arthur said.
“What’s the big deal?” Art Junior groused. “It’s just an animal. Their stupid cat killed my dog, and you don’t see me crying like a baby.”
Irene studied her son with sadness. How had it come to this? she wondered. She spent all her time fighting people—the son who had become a stranger to her; her husband who wanted to sell their home; her friends and neighbors who couldn’t understand that she was doing everything for them, for the good of their children and community. She imagined what her mother would say about a grandchild landing in jail. No one in her family had ever been incarcerated, except a distant cousin whom her mother had refused to talk about. “We do not entertain Cousin Alf in this house,” she’d said the one year Irene, age eight, had asked to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner.
Irene turned away from her son in disgust. She watched Antigone stroking the deer’s neck. Suddenly, she flung open the gate and ran over to Antigone and Sam. Cody chased after her.
“Irene, come back here.”
“Antigone! Please don’t press charges against my boy.”
A furious Sam stepped between Antigone and Irene. “Hell, yes, we’re pressing charges.”
“But he’s my son.”
“He’s an out-of-control, self-centered prick . . .”
But he’s my prick, Irene thought.
Sam continued to rant. “You’ve made our life a living hell, Irene. She’s pregnant. Leave her alone.”
“Please,” she said, “it’ll go on his permanent record.”
“He deserves to have a record,” Sam shouted. “He’s a criminal.”
Arthur had reached them by then. “Now, Sam, let’s cool it, okay?”
Sam eyed Arthur, and to Irene, it seemed something passed between them. “You know this is wrong, Arthur,” Sam said.
Arthur nodded. “Yes, but . . .”
Antigone grabbed Sam’s sleeve. “Sam.” He immediately turned to his wife.
“Tigg, he beat the crap out of Ryder and hurt this poor animal, just for kicks.”
When Antigone tilted her head up to her husband, Irene saw that her cheeks were moist with tears. Still she stroked the deer. And when she turned her eyes toward Irene, Irene felt uncomfortable. She told herself that she had done nothing wrong. Boys will be boys, as Arthur said. How she hated that excuse when Arthur used it, but this was her son, her first born, facing jail.
“Where does it end, Irene?” Antigone said.
“What?”
“This.” Antigone swept her hand out in frustration. “You brought this on.”
“I’m just trying to be a good mother, Antigone.”
“And what is a good mother, Irene?” Antigone asked. “Does she bake cookies? Does she read to her kids every night? Does she bail them out of jail?”
“He’s wild, I know,” Irene said, glancing back at Art Junior. “But . . .”
“Where does it end? There will always be another book you don’t like, Irene.”
Irene turned back to Antigone, giving the lapel of her black wool coat a tug. “I’ve always tried to do the right thing, Antigone. To set an example.”
Antigone shook her head, as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re a handful, Irene.”
Irene was surprised she wasn’t more insulted. “I was raised that way,” she said.
Antigone turned back to the deer, her hand still stroking. “A good mother doesn’t give up,” Antigone said softly.
“If I could just take him home—” Irene swallowed then pulled herself together. “We will deal with this, as a family.”
In a tired voice, Antigone said to Cody, “Let them go,” and Irene shut her eyes. A reprieve. When she opened them, she realized she’d been dismissed. Bent over the deer, Antigone was no longer interested in her. She started to say thank you, then noticed Antigone’s shoulders shaking.
Arthur tugged at her elbow. Together they stumbled back to the gate.
As Cody removed the cuffs, Arthur ordered their son into the car. “You’re grounded,” he said.
“You gotta be kidding,” Art Junior grumbled. “And look what they did to my Jeep.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur said. “It’s not yours anymore.”
THE VET AND SAM cut the fence to free Fancy. Then the vet gave the deer a shot for pain and another to relax her. Together Sam, Ryder, and the vet supported the deer as it staggered a step or two, then collapsed on the ground. Finally, after stitching up the deer’s leg and jaw, the vet stood and wiped his hands on a towel from his gear, “There’s not much more I can do, Antigone. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
After the vet left, Sam hunkered down beside Antigone and begged her to come inside, “It’s freezing out here. You’re exhausted.”
“No,” said Antigone, “I’m staying with her.” She was sitting on the ground, the deer’s bloody head in her lap. She stroked Fancy and whispered to her. Sam sat down beside her. Ryder jammed his hands in his pockets and stood nearby, as did Earthly and Star. Earthly put her arm around Star. William handed out hot chocolate from a thermos then took up a position by the front gate, pacing.
The vigil lasted through the rest of the night. As dawn finally spread across the winter sky, Fancy pushed her snout into Antigone’s hand and blew one last time. Antigone felt the deer’s last warm breath float away. She leaned over and whispered, “Good-bye, baby.”
Star turned into her mother’s arms and began to cry. Sam helped Antigone struggle to her feet. Her legs buckled, pinpricks of feeling rushing into her legs after sitting for hours at the deer’s side. She clutched Sam’s shirt. He tucked her head under his chin and held her close while she sobbed. Earthly shepherded Star home, and William returned to his apartment over the café. Ryder stood to the side, fists still in his pockets, looking at the ground.
Finally, Antigone straightened, wiped her face, and said, “Take care of her, Sam.” He nodded. “Someplace nice. By the pond. She liked the pond.” Then Antigone walked alone across the yard, through the gate, and into the house.
A few minutes later as Sam was talking to Ryder about burying the deer, Antigone came back out with car keys in her hand, got into the Mustang, and sped away. She heard Sam calling her name. In the rearview mirror, she saw him and Ryder running after the car, but she couldn’t stop. Somewhere, out there, was a road that would help her forget.
Chapter 25
The Pink Shark
A FURIOUS EARTHLY SIMS was a sight to behold. As her ex-husband Chester used to say before he went over to the dark side, “Righteous law do look good on you, woman.” So did her fuchsia suit with matching high heels and big feathered hat. She hadn’t been this mad since Chester sold out, turned corporate
, and got that strip mining company off on a technicality. Her baby girl, crying her heart out over a dead deer, wouldn’t get out of bed. Her friend and partner Antigone was God knew where. It was time somebody paid.
The meeting was being held on the stage in the Mercy High School Auditorium. The seven board members and Superintendent Bradford Mitchell were seated on one side of a long table; Earthly stood on the other side. The Mercy Full frieze danced behind her. She gave the board her best shark smile and thought she saw Superintendent Mitchell gulp.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I graduated at the top of my class at Tulane. I had one of the best litigation records during my eleven years with the ACLU. In short, you are not the first school board I have faced. When I was actively practicing and not selling fine outlet linen, I sued school districts for discrimination, denial of civil rights and religious freedom, and even book banning.”
“Now, see here . . .” said old Howard, the hardware store owner.
Earthly ignored him. “And when I sue someone, they don’t forget it.”
Superintendent Mitchell said, “Ms. Sims, this whole situation has been blown out of proportion.”
“You bet it has. Banning books without a review . . .”
“This school board had nothing to do with that,” said Hank the accountant, casting a furious glance at Irene.
“Refusing to return the books to circulation—even after said books had been reviewed and deemed suitable for students.” Several members of the board glared at the superintendent.
“Persecuting an innocent woman, her family, and her business.”
“There is such a thing as community standards . . .” interrupted Irene.
“Shut up, Irene,” Hank growled.
Earthly continued, “You even got my client arrested on obscenity charges. A pregnant woman spent a night in jail.”
“Now that wasn’t our fault,” said Gary the dentist.
“Oh, no, none of us would ever want that,” said Kalinda the artist.
Book of Mercy Page 16
